


Fear From These Hands

by Sigmund



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Angst, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-03
Updated: 2014-07-03
Packaged: 2018-02-07 07:41:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,044
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1890594
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sigmund/pseuds/Sigmund
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>From bbc musketeer kink prompt: I want a seriously pissed off Athos at something he thinks d'Artagnan did and then beating the shit out of him, coming close to almost strangling him. I want d'Artagnan confused and trying to stop him, but not fighting back.<br/>The others can be there, but I would like it if no one were to intervene and stop Athos, he just tires himself out and leaves.<br/>Bonus if Athos draws out his sword and tells d'Artagnan to do so in the beginning but a confused d'Artagnan tells him he doesn't want to fight him, and then Athos, angry that he can't have a duel with an unarmed man, proceeds to beat him up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fear From These Hands

**Author's Note:**

> I am in a mood and picked this prompt, which follows a theme of d'Artagnan not being trusted and still an outsider while an apprentice. Violence depicted and though the story does not go in this direction, anyone in a violent situation should leave. All mistakes my own.

"How could you? Did you tell them what you did?" Athos bore down on him, forcing d'Artagnan to push away from Aramis's table and stand.

"What I did? When?" d'Artagnan could not recall anything that would bring about this reaction in Athos. Had he forgotten to do something important?

"You play the innocent?" Athos took up the space between them, then took a step back. "Draw your sword."

d'Artagnan was not about to draw his weapon with d'Artagnan incensed with him. He looked towards Aramis and Porthos, but they were not intervening. "No. This is nonsense. Tell me what I did."

"Draw your sword. I will not fight an unarmed man." Athos's sword was drawn, and he went through his motions of preparing for a fight.

d'Artagnan unbuckled his sword, and let it drop to the floor, kicking it out of the way. "Tell me what I did."

"Athos, what has the boy done?" Aramis asked with his hands up.

"Am I to highlight all his mistakes? He wants to be a musketeer, not an arrogant boy." Athos moved his blade to waver in front of the younger man.

"I'm confused." He turned towards Porthos and Aramis to include them. "I have no wish to fight you, any of you."

Athos dropped his sword, but it was the back of Athos's hand, balled into a fist that got d'Artagnan's attention. The next angry blow was delivered as a punch to the same side, then to his jaw before another blow was delivered to his stomach. D'Artagnan sucked in much needed air. "I. Will. Not. Fight.You."

A cuff to his ear was the response he got. He started to defend himself when Athos's grabbed d'Artagnan's shoulders and brought his knee up, but the Gascon was too stunned to be effective. He was still standing, but that is not what Athos wanted and he rained punch after punch with d'Artagnan feeling his nose break, his teeth loosen.

"Why?" he spat out blood, but there was no answer. D'Artagnan brought his hands to cover his head, but this left the rest of him exposed, plus did not protect his neck.

Athos's hands gripped his neck, tightening, squeezing. "You should not be a musketeer."

He looked wildly for his two friends, but could not see them past the brutality. Darkness was encroaching as d'Artagnan took little gasps, his hands coming down on Athos's wrists, but Athos instead pushed him to the wall and hit his head once, twice, then let him go. Fear was an overriding emotion that d'Artagnan never thought he would feel at the hand of Athos.

D'Artagnan collapsed to the floor where Athos's kicked him in the ribs. The pain sparked and the younger man could feel he was losing his battle with consciousness, unable to see the next attack and panicking. He could not take in a full breath, but it was not over until Athos stomped on d'Artagnan's hand as he was trying to reach towards Aramis and Porthos.

D'Artagnan knew he tried to scream at that, but no sound came out, and his mind was unable to comprehend how to move his hand away from the onslaught so it remained outstretched as he closed his eyes and succumbed.

Athos was heaving from the effort of the exertion of the beating. He put a hand out onto the wall to catch his breath, looking down at the broken body. D'Artagnan was a foolish boy if he thought no one would find out that he had been dueling, boasting that he was soon to be a musketeer with a boy who had happened to make d'Artagnan angry. His hotheadedness had a price, and Athos wanted to make sure the Gascon understood it.

He flexed his hands, removed the gloves to see the bruises forming, along with some redness on his knuckles.

"Athos, tell us what has happened?" Porthos asked, moving closer to Athos and a fallen d'Artagnan.

"You will know soon enough. I need some wine." Athos picked up his sword placing it in the sheath and left.

"What are we to do?" Porthos bent down towards d'Artagnan. The young man was still breathing, better than the last time Athos lost control over a beaten child. "You remember the last time Athos was like this. Do you think d'Artagnan. . ."

Aramis did not let Porthos finish the thought remembering all too well what they had witnessed before. "Why else? We do not know the particulars of Gascon farm boys." He had misjudged people in the past, and would in the future. "But, he didn't fight back." Aramis seemed to be in doubt. "I can tend to him, then we will bring him to Madame Bonaciuex."

D'Artagnan moaned a bit as Aramis tended to the bruises, wrapped the ribs and cleaned up the blood from the broken nose. The young man never fully awakened and Aramis and Porthos carried him between them, dragging him along since d'Artagnan was unable to walk.

Although it was night, they knocked on Constance's door surprised to see she answered it with a musket at the ready. "What's happened?" She exclaimed at the sight of her lodger. "Is he alive?"

"He is." Porthos took all d'Artagnan's weight and carried him upstairs to his room, giving the young man the courtesy of removing his boots.

"Who did this?" Constance and Aramis had followed him.

"We thought it best to bring him here." Aramis did not reveal anything, sending a silencing look to Porthos. "This is tincture of poppy, and if he gets worse then call a physician."

Constance took the vial, but seemed stunned into inaction. "Will you be away?"

"Yes," they answered, removing themselves with all haste from the situation.

**(((()))))**

When Athos returned to the garrison in the morning Aramis and Porthos had informed him that they had bundled d'Artagnan off to the Bonacieux residence. Athos's anger flared again at the risk they were subjected Constance to with that type of boarder. He went to warn her, pounding on the door until she answered.

Constance looked spent. She brushed the hair off her face, wiped under her eyes. "Athos, you've come to see d'Artagnan. He's not doing better. . ."

He stepped inside, but went no further to follow her. "Madame, I am surprised that you did not hear about how your boarder attacked a defenseless boy."

"What?" Constance caught herself on door frame.

"Claude Vonneau told me of the attack himself." The young man, barely a teen, was huddled in the dark and told him how d'Artagnan had ordered him to a duel after they had exchanged some words, and had beaten him, leaving him in the street to suffer. Athos pressed a few coins, then went directly to the garrison to meet out his own punishment.

Constance frowned. "Claude is a known liar since he moved here with his mother. He is giving his mother fits. Fanciful stories from a strange boy. He says he is cousin to the King. He likes the attention." She again pushed the hair off her face.

Athos was taken aback, as if he was under onslaught from the physical blows he had delivered just last night. He pressed a hand to his chest as it started to ache. "I was misinformed."

"Did Claude do this? I don't understand." She glanced upstairs.

Athos shook his head. He had believed the city's liar, not given d'Artagnan a chance to explain because he so wanted to protect the defenseless and hand out his own justice.

Athos swallowed. "I did this."

Constance reached out, placing her hand over the one on his chest. "No, Athos. It is the guilt. I see how you want to protect him. . ."

He shrugged off her hand, and removed his gloves to show her the evidence. "Constance, I did this. I beat him with my own hands."

"And the others?" Her voice choked with emotion, her eyes filled with tears. "They know?"

Athos nodded. Aramis and Porthos remembered the other incident when he had lost control after seeing a child beaten. He had exacted righteous revenge then, and it hadn't been misplaced, not like now.

"Get out," she ordered. "I think he's dying, Athos. Dying." She crumbled for a moment, then caught herself as he made his way to help her. She placed her hand up to stop him. "And I should not care, but I do because he has been kind to me, and you have shown him nothing. Leave!"

He backed his way out the door, and took hurried steps to the garrison, each step filled with profound guilt. His friends were waiting for him. "You should bring me to the chatelet. I have murdered d'Artagnan with my bare hands." He collapsed on the bench.

"He's dead?" Aramis asked.

"No, but Madame Bonacieux enlightened me. I was gravely mistaken." Athos stood up, stumbled to the stairs. "I need to tell Treville."

"We will go with you," Porthos stated.

"No, I did this. The boy did nothing wrong. He hurt no one. You understand?" Athos waited until they nodded.

In Treville's office he accepted the punishment laid out for him with the Captain's hope that the young Gascon made a full recovery so they could avoid further dishonor. Athos came down the stairs, hoping to drown himself in wine. "I have been restricted to the garrison until further notice, and my pay will go to d'Artagnan's expenses." He sat down, but he did not know how to proceed with his corporeal body. "A physician will be sent over immediately."

"We went to visit him, bring food. . ." Porthos added glumly.

"Madame Bonacieux would not answer the door," Aramis explained. "We left the basket."

For two weeks they received limited reports about d'Artagnan's prognosis through the physician that Treville had hired. Porthos and Aramis had continued to leave baskets, and Constance never answered the door.

It was the second week where an uneasy Constance came into the Garrison. The physician had reported that her husband had been traveling, not to return for another week or perhaps longer.

There was heat in her gaze, anger directed at them. "He's alive no thanks to you, all of you. Should I remind you of his injuries? The broken ribs, nose, black eyes, concussion, bruises, and mangled hand that he should be able to use again, God willing. He was bled when he got a fever and now the fool wants to see you."

"When?" Athos asked, ready to go immediately.

"When you are sober and can feel every pain that you inflicted on him, Monsieur, come calling."

Athos stopped drinking, taking in only water as an act of contrition that Constance requested. Two days later with the report from the physician that d'Artagnan was awake for longer intervals, they decided to visit.

The Bonaceiux house seemed inhospitable now to them. Constance answered the door, but stayed in the confine of the doorframe.

"I would like to see him alone for a moment." Athos bowed and was allowed in. Aramis and Porthos tried to follow, but Constance threw out an arm to stop them.

"You are not waiting inside. Stay here and I will fetch you when it is time." She shut the door on the startled two men. "He was resting when I checked on him. Do not wake him."

 

He started to shake when he saw the damage he had done to the usually vibrant young man. The startling blues,   blacks and purples over his paler olive tone skin. His face had the rings of blackness around his eyes, his lip cut and still mending. There was still the lingering evidence of each of Athos's punches. His hand, stepped on by Athos was wrapped and splinted on top of a pillow. The sheet dipped down to reveal the other arm where he had been bled, the bindings for the broken ribs and Athos's hand marks around his neck. D'Artagnan was breathing heavily through his mouth, then startled himself awake.

The room was in a muted darkness, Athos guessed because of d'Artagnan's nagging headache. Athos remained still, waiting until the young man fully awakened. D'Artagnan blinked, licked his lips then sighed. Athos moved so not to startle the boy, but still d'Artagnan flinched when he noticed that someone else was in the room. "Madame Bonacieux has taken good care of you."

"Yes. I owe her more than I can ever repay." D'Artagnan's voice was dry, he cleared it his throat and winced.

Athos saw the decanter of water and poured a glass for d'Artagnan, all the while slowing down his actions so as not to be threatening. He held out the glass of water which d'Artagnan took shakily. "We all do. She told me about Claude, and how I was misled."

"Why would you believe him?" d'Artagan shifted to place the glass on the nightstand, then sighed as if the task was monumental.

Athos saw the chair, but it was not his place to sit. All his diplomacy skills left him and he was only left with being forthright. "I thought you were an arrogant fool and attacked a boy over an imagined insult." How could he break someone apart so easily, Athos thought it was he who was filled with a haughty arrogance. "I thought of my brother and my wife, the other child I had seen a long time ago. . .I am deeply sorry."

D'Artagnan looked away, moved his legs to reposition himself slightly. Athos did not offer help, unsure if his touch or assistance would be welcomed. D'Artagnan propped himself up a little further. "Claude has been sent away as a sailor. It will be a good calling for him."

He had wanted to go after the boy, but unable to restricted to the garrison. "Did Constance arrange that?"

"Yes, I think so." D'Artagnan frowned as if trying to put together the pieces. "She's good at that. She'd make a good musketeer." He rubbed at his bloodshot eyes with his bandaged hand, sighing. "She thinks it would be better for me to return to Lupiac."

"Because of me and this." Athos shook off his rigid posture and felt his shoulders drop in dejection.

"Yes." D'Artagnan looked away.

The younger man had said it was Constance who had provided the advice. Athos hopes there was still time to change d'Artagnan's mind. "And what do you think?"

"I think I'm afraid. I am afraid." The injured man thinned his lips. "I don't know what to do about it."

"Of me?" Athos took a step back. This was the result of his brutality, a friend who he had destroyed and a wife he turned into a killer.

D'Artagnan gave a short nod. "You, the others, life."

"But you wanted to see us." Athos licked his lips.

The injured man nodded. "I needed to know why."

Athos shifted on his feet under the scrutiny. "Aramis and Porthos are here and would like to see you, too. Offer their apologizes. Although it was because of me that they did not intervene."

"Constance is just as angry as them as she is with you."

"Her anger is not displaced, and I will be forever in her debt for helping you. Can I have them come in?" Athos hoped that that added assistance of Aramis and Porthos would help d'Artagnan decide to stay.

There was another short nod. Athos fetched his friends and he could not warn them about d'Artagnan's appearance. They were taken aback just like Athos had been.

"Lad, we should have never abandoned you and we should have stopped this." Porthos seemed on the brink of tears.

"d'Artagnan, we can only beg forgiveness." Aramis gave his usually aborted bow.

"You should start with Constance," d'Artagnan fidgeted against the pillows that had propped him up.

"It feels wrong to have a woman so detest me." Aramis took the unoccupied seat.

The joke fell flat. "When should we expect you back at the garrison?" Porthos asked, but frowned when Athos shook his head. "You're not coming back."

"I don't think it's a good idea." D'Artagnan lifted his bandaged hand.

"The physician said you would heal. We will grovel at your feet for the rest of our days." Aramis tried approaching d'Artagnan as if he was wooing him.

"You weren't there when we found this little girl and what had been done to her. Athos took matters into his own hands, and when he thought about you. . ." Porthos could nto continue.

"It was wrong of him, wrong of us, but do not let that diminish your greatness, D'Artagnan." Aramis was solemn, all joviality removed, turned to seriousness.

"Greatness?" d'Artagnan snorted, then winced. "I feel only fear."

"Fear we created; let us try to redeem ourselves while you continue to convalesce." Athos drawled with hopes of another opportunity.

Constance did not complain vocally, but she was not happy with the three musketeers who were constantly afoot keeping d'Artagnan company. They had made progress as d'Artagnan had stopped flinching and allowed them closer. At last the physician announced that the Gascon could return to his apprenticeship.

"You could work with other musketeers." Athos was dejected. He had no right to believe that d'Artagnan would ever see the attack, and neither should he no matter the apologies and his subsequent actions.  "You shouldn't give up on being a musketeer."

D'Artagnan shrugged, then flexed his hand newly removed from the splint. "I will try. I cannot do more than that." He was still uneasy with them, a right to have some distrust after what he had gone through at Athos's hands.

"I will never touch you in any form of anger," Athos promised. He had been tested and failed, and would always try to show he was a better man that had just a momentary lapse in judgment.  

D'Artagnan nodded his acceptance. He had grown quiet, but was somewhat more comfortable with their company.

Aramis smiled as did Porthos. "Constance will keep us all honest," Aramis commented. "I still need to get back into her good graces."

"He hates to think of even one woman not liking him." Porthos said as an aside to d'Artagnan.

The younger man gave a half grin. Athos hoped one day soon they would be graced with a full smile.


End file.
